The coincidence of approaching summer holidays (we're in the northern hemisphere!), living in a ‘lifestyle-focused’ culture, and reading Nehemiah has got me thinking about the topic of rest. It's not a particularly recent thought for me, or for humanity in general; since ancient times, rest has been a great concern for people—perhaps another indication that we are indeed created in the image of our creator, who is himself a God who rests (Gen 2:2).

Fortunately, ‘rest’ for God involves much more than a beachside holiday, a cool drink and afternoon naps. As he commissions Moses to go and lead the enslaved Israelites out of slavery, ‘rest’ is a concept concerned with enjoying the blessings of God and worshipping him, untroubled by invading foes or the fallen creation.

As the Old Testament progresses, we see Israel entering the Promised Land, the place of rest. However, their failure to observe the conditions of the covenant means their stay is temporary and the hoped-for rest is fleeting.

When we encounter Nehemiah, Israel has returned to the land post-exile, and, again, they are seeking rest. After much personal distress, upon hearing of his homeland's condition, Nehemiah courageously leaves his foreign king and returns home. After a steady campaign, he leads the returnees through a series of personal and corporate confessions, readings of the law, reformations and religious festival observations.

In the midst of a great response of confession to the reading of the law by the scribe Ezra, these telling words are uttered:

Behold, we are slaves this day; in the land that you gave to our fathers to enjoy its fruit and its good gifts, behold, we are slaves. And its rich yield goes to the kings whom you have set over us because of our sins. They rule over our bodies and over our livestock as they please, and we are in great distress. (Neh 9:36-37)

For a nation in the midst of a critically important federal building programme (the wall and the city), a reformation of religious practice, and days of corporate confession and worship, these come as chilling and challenging words.

The time of exile when life was anything but rest has now ended, and the people are back in Jerusalem, the city of God. They have largely rebuilt the wall, and are working hard to institute orthodox religious life. Most of all, this is happening in the Promised Land, the place of rest. Surely things are on the up! But no; notice the terrible contrast in these verses.

On one hand, there is the glorious truth of the Promised Land—a place promised to the fathers to enjoy fruit and good gifts—to rest! But on the other hand, the reality of life in that land—slavery, taxation, distress—is anything but rest.

Why? It's because of their sins.

On the surface, all the ‘physical’ things are in place for a good life of rest. The buildings are there, the celebrations are there and the order is there. But still there is no rest.

I wonder if we can sometimes find ourselves setting up the physical things so that rest might come, but we leave the heart out of the arrangement. Perhaps we need to hear again these words from Jesus:

“All things have been handed over to me by my Father, and no one knows the Son except the Father, and no one knows the Father except the Son and anyone to whom the Son chooses to reveal him. Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” (Matt 11:27-30)

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